


Now You're Looking for a Little Grace

by thereweregiants



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Food as Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Voyeurism, Modern AU, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Hanzo Shimada, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants/pseuds/thereweregiants
Summary: FBI Agent Jack Morrison is stuck babysitting a couple of witnesses until the trial against what's left of their criminal family.Unfortunately, those witnesses took one look at Jack and decided to make his life very interesting.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	Now You're Looking for a Little Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sciencefictioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/gifts).



> my incredibly belated Samhain fic for my beloved sci. thank you for letting me throw ideas at you and then run it into the ground, you enable me too much <3 <3 <3
> 
> title from Nickle Creek's [Destination](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sIt8aN01NlY)  
> written to the Bastion soundtrack

“Morrison! What are you doing after your shift today?”

Jack turns in his chair, the tired leather letting out a depressed squeaky sigh that he wishes he could echo himself. There’s a smile on Sombra’s face that he distinctly does not like. “Does it really matter what I say?”

“Nope.” She plunks a file down in front of him, and the sheer mass of post-it flags and binder clips holding it all together doesn’t look like anything he wants to do with. “I present to you: the Shimadas.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jack flips open the file to see a picture labeled ‘Shimada, Sojiro’ with a large red X over it. “He finally got taken out?”

Sombra nods. “It’s thrown the whole clan into disarray, and Petras thinks that there’s finally enough of a case to take down everyone else.”

“For all the torture and murders, presumably.”

She shakes her head. “Weapons trafficking and RICO shit.”

Jack sits forward, ignoring the warning creak of his chair, and stabs the file with a finger. “Dozens of people are dead, and those are just the ones in this country! The ones we know about! We still have all the info that Rein and I got ten years ago -”

“And all the witnesses from that are long dead or fled the country. They’re going to be put away and for good, just not - for the older stuff.” Jack rolls his eyes and sits back. What a load of Al Capone tax evasion bullshit. “There’s a couple of witnesses, here -” Sombra flips halfway through the file, opens it to several fuzzy surveillance photos. They’re of two men, in their late twenties or early thirties, expensive clothing and more expensive haircuts. They’re talking to Sojiro, their body language implying familiarity.

“Who are they?”

“We’re - not actually sure.” Jack snorts and Sombra rolls her eyes. “I know, okay. We know they’re Shimadas, although we’re not sure of their relationship to each other or the clan at large, and the older one in particular was close to Sojiro. Did a lot of his dirty work. We also know that they’ve been trying to escape the clan for years and years now, reached out to the US embassy in Japan a dozen times before. Now they’re going to testify for us.”

“And your sticky little fingers can’t figure out who they are?” Sombra shrugs a negative, mutters something about speaking five languages and none of them are Japanese. Sombra does all the tech for their branch of the FBI, as well as organizing tech-related outings like -

Jack suddenly remembers her initial question to him. “Sombra. No.”

She smiles, pushes the file closer. “I hope you brought a change of clothes.”

“Someone call Winston over at the Marshals service, they’re the ones that handle witness protection. We’ve got better things to do with our time.”

“If we turn them over to the Marshals, we’d have to turn the whole case over. Which we can’t do because it’s international. Hell, it’s multinational - South Korea wants at least a couple of them. They’re already set up with S6 visas, they’re in a house over in Point Mugu...” Jack snorts. “Hey, we wanted them near the Naval Base there in case we need to get them out in a hurry. Gabe and Ana are taking day shift, you have night shift.”

Jack scratches through his hair and thinks about the number of years he needs to put in before he gets full retirement benefits. Too many for him to quit on the spot, unfortunately. “Fine, but I’m leaving for home now to get a shower.” 

Sombra gives him a brilliant smile and is gone in a flip of non-regulation colored hair. Jack leans back tiredly, and his chair suddenly collapses down a foot underneath him without warning.

Maybe it would be good to get out of the office for a while.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jack pulls in to the open garage next to Ana’s SUV, already tired although it’s eight in the evening. He knocks on the door of a small, neat house - anonymous in a neighborhood of similar houses. Half are empty, the result of a plunging economy and lack of any real points of interest for miles around. It’s not a bad area, if you don’t mind paying a million dollars for a two bedroom house that constantly has naval airplanes flying low overhead.

Ana opens the door, her usual black suit jacket shed to reveal a button down shirt that somehow still seems freshly ironed after what must have been a long day. Jack has never understood how she always looks so put together, whether after a trial or a firefight.

The corners of her mouth are a bit tight but she’s relatively bright-eyed as she ushers him in. “I’m guessing you were caught flat footed by the assignment too?” she asks blandly, chuckling a bit at Jack’s grunt.

She shows him into a small living room, where Gabriel stands next to a table and chairs, shrugging his jacket on. There’s a couch, a loveseat, a television and coffee table, all in the most boring colors possible. A kitchen is to the right, a cracked door showing a bathroom straight ahead, and then several closed doors off a hallway to the left. A treadmill is tucked into a corner.

Gabriel gives him a nod, then cracks his knuckles absently. “They’re not particularly interesting,” he says bluntly. “Tend to just talk to each other and ignore us for the most part. Should be an easy night for you.”

“Bite your tongue,” Jack says automatically as he takes stock of the room. Large picture windows in front, but with curtains that can be pulled. Smaller windows everywhere else. “What’s surveillance like?”

“There’s a van a block over, it’s covering external cameras.” Gabriel spreads out a paper blueprint of the house, points out the various cameras covering the exterior as well as a variety sprinkled on the various roads in and out. “No cameras or mics inside, their lawyer was too slick for us apparently. We have 8 am to 8 pm, you have the opposite.”

“How long is this going to go on for?”

Ana gives Jack a crooked smile, hands him her ebook reader. “Get comfortable. Assuming no delays, it’s still going to be a week, probably.” She thumps him on the shoulder. “Hey, at least you’ll be here while they’re asleep! You can catch up on your reading and trash TV.”

Jack rolls his eyes. Yeah, and he’s also going to fuck his sleep schedule up but good. He’s too old for this, being up all night for a week at a time. Thank god he doesn’t have any pets to take care of.

Straightening up with a crack of his back, he blinks. One of the doors is open, and there are now two men on the other side of the living room from him. One sits in the loveseat with one arm on the armrest and the other along the back, looking like he’s sitting in an executive’s chair, or perhaps a throne. He has hair pulled back into a short ponytail, revealing where it’s greying on the sides. A tattoo peeks out of the suit jacket at his left wrist, and calm eyes watch as Jack catalogues the man. 

_ The older one in particular was close to Sojiro _ , Sombra’s voice says in his mind’s ear.  _ Did a lot of his dirty work. _

Hmm.

The other man slouches along the back of the loveseat, head propped up on one hand. The familial resemblance between the two - cheekbones, eyes, general sense of entitlement - and Sojiro himself is unmistakable, though the younger man has shaggy hair dyed an uneven green and a smirk on his full lips. As Jack meets his eyes he leans down, murmurs something to the older man who gives a slight nod. The smirk widens into a crooked smile, and Jack frowns and turns away.

They’re both good-looking in a way that’s a punch to the gut, but Jack knows the blood that has to be shed to earn the yakuza tattoos that peek out of both of their sleeves and that tamps his libido down right quick. He turns back to Gabriel and Ana.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Nah,” Gabriel says as he taps his files into a neat pile that he shoves in his briefcase. “No ordering out, prosecutor’s too paranoid. Fridge is full, help yourself and write down anything you want on the shopping list, we’re sending interns out to do shopping tomorrow. Bi-hourly patrols, inside only. The nerds in the van down the road are covering the outside.”

“Who’s running the night shift for them?”

Gabriel taps at his phone for a moment before saying, “O’Deorain.”

Christ, he couldn’t stand that woman. Now he wouldn’t even have anyone to bitch to on the phone during all of this. Great.

Ana and Gabriel are gone in a minute, leaving Jack staring at a closed door, aware of the two men sitting behind him. He turns, looking them both over carefully, before opening the file that’s on the table and scanning the first page quickly.

“Hanzo and Genji Shimada - I’m pronouncing all that right?” He pauses until he gets two nods. “I’m Special Agent Morrison, and will be your night detail until further notice. I have a few rules that you need to follow - these are not optional. Understand?” He waits, longer this time, for another two nods.

“You do not leave under any circumstances, and no one is coming here. I understand you don’t have phones, you will not be borrowing mine. Get ready to cook because there’s no takeout. After dark, which it will be the entire time I’m on shift, the curtains will be closed on all windows, and the lights will be dim so no one can see you from outside. No loud music, no loud television. I suggest you spend your time sleeping.

“No discussing the case with me. I can’t ask you officially not to talk about it with each other, but at least don’t do it within my earshot. I will be doing rounds every other hour of every room with a window - which in here is every room but the bathroom. I don’t care if you’re sleeping, I’ll try not to disturb you but I will come in.” Jack gives a grim smile with little humor in it. “I’m not your friend, I’m keeping you alive. Remember that and do what I say and we’ll all come out of this just fine.”

Hanzo, the older one, his expression hasn’t changed, but Genji - Jack is already annoyed by his green hair and his smirk and his youth - has let his smile fade a bit. Good. The less they fuck around, the easier this will be. 

Jack gives a short nod that’s a clear dismissal, and the two men slowly stand up and start to talk to each other quietly in Japanese. Jack ignores them in favor of hanging his jacket over the back of a chair and gathering his files. When he looks up he sees one of the bedroom doors shutting quietly, and he heaves a sigh of relief as he carries his paperwork over to the coffee table.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jack stands, stretches his back, and starts to go on his first set of rounds. He’s already familiar with the living room and the kitchen but he goes around anyways, peering out the windows as he goes. Boring, nighttime suburbia. 

The bathroom is empty and he doesn’t need to check it, but he pokes his head in anyways. There’s a variety of bottles and jars scattered around, most with names he doesn’t recognize. The few brands that are familiar are way out of his paygrade. He pulls open the medicine cabinet door, sees several prescription bottles, along with vials of clear fluid and sterile syringes. He’s vaguely annoyed that the labels are in Japanese, even as he knows it’s not his business. 

There’s an empty room with a twin bed and a computer setup - well, a monitor, keyboard, and mouse at least, there’s no actual computer. During longer ops they’ll stick an agent in here, but for shorter babysitting jobs like this Jack just brings his own laptop. No need to leave tech around as temptation for the witnesses. 

Another bedroom, empty. Jack frowns. He’d been assuming each man would take a room, but perhaps not. 

He gives a cursory knock before opening the door to the last bedroom. Hanzo is tucked into an armchair, reading, a pair of wire rim glasses perched on the end of his long nose. Genji is sprawled on the bed, a tablet on his chest that casts flickering colors on his face in the dim lighting of the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, before frowning. “Is that thing connected to the internet?” he asks, motioning at Genji’s tablet. 

“No, don’t worry, I got all of the lectures. It’s just things that are downloaded.” Genji’s voice is lighter than Jack expected, although it sounds more petulant than anything else right now. 

“It’s all to keep you safe.”

“We know,” comes a deeper voice from the corner. Hanzo. He looks up at Jack from over his glasses and says, “We have no wish to put ourselves in danger.”

Jack gives a nod of agreement as he steps in, peering out the window before pulling the curtains tight. It smells oddly good in the room, cedar and something herby he can’t identify. No doubt the fault of those various jars in the bathroom. 

“I’ll be back in two hours, I’ll try not to wake you up but the surveillance is the important part.”

Genji just looks at him with steady eyes but Hanzo nods. A practiced motion, like a soldier used to taking orders, Jack thinks absently.

_ Did a lot of his dirty work. _

“Have a good night, gentlemen.” Jack closes the door. 

-x-x-x-x-x-

The rest of the night is surprisingly quiet. The first time Jack checks back in Genji is snoring away as Hanzo still reads, seemingly not having moved at all in the past two hours. The next few checkups, both men are asleep. 

Jack doesn’t want to obsess, but he doesn’t quite have his finger on their relationship yet and it bothers him. They sleep easily together, Genji’s face at one point buried between Hanzo’s shoulderblades, another time Hanzo’s arm flopped out to rest easily across Genji’s stomach. It speaks of years together, not the clingy flush of a new relationship or awkwardness of a newly shared bed. 

He thinks of their singular last name and hums to himself in annoyance at his own interest before putting the subject out of his head.

It’s 7 am when the bedroom door creaks open, the faint sound of Hanzo’s snoring getting louder as it does. Genji stumbles out in thin, bright pink cotton pants that stop just above leanly muscled calves and a loosely tied silk robe that gapes open enough to reveal the tattoo that wraps from his shoulder down across his ribs.

His hair is messy, sticking up all over the place, and he knuckles sleep out of his eyes as he spots Jack tapping away at his computer at the kitchen table. 

“So Mr Morrison,” Genji says in a voice rough with sleep. “Do you have a first name?”

“Special Agent,” Jack replies mildly, as he doesn’t look up from his screen.

Genji snorts out a laugh. “He has a sense of humor,” he says with a shade of actual surprise over the derision. He settles down at the table across from Jack, propping his chin up on a fist. Jack can feel himself being examined, looked at. Jack is tired, knows he looks tired, but something in him has to stop himself from squaring his shoulders up, from lifting his chin to tighten the skin there. 

_ Stop it, Morrison. Doesn’t matter how good he looks in a silk robe, stop it. _

“I don’t suppose…” Genji starts, and Jack is already bracing himself for whatever idiotic request he has. “You know how to cook?”

Jack looks up, blinking in surprise. Genji has a hopeful, if half-asleep look on his face. “You -” Jack clears his throat. “Don’t know how to cook.”

Genji gives an elegant shrug, the peacock-feather patterned silk robe slipping down his bicep, revealing tan skin dotted with a few dark moles. “The Shimada Castle had kitchens, big ones. We weren’t allowed in, weren’t allowed to learn.” He shifts his shoulders at that, like shrugging off a tight memory. “They were too busy making meals for, I don’t know. Dozens.”

Jack frowns slightly and nods. He gets up, realizes his own stomach is grumbling. If he’s really switching his schedule around, he should probably eat lunch sometime in the middle of the night, he realizes.

He gets up and opens the fridge, peering through the contents. He does the same for the pantry. Bare staples, basic stuff. “Bacon and eggs okay?” he asks.

“Is there any rice?” Genji asks hopefully.

Jack goes through the various cupboards. “No.” He points to the notebook on which he’d already written ‘better coffee’ ‘something with electrolytes’ and ‘milk from a cow not a plant’. “Write down whatever you want there, they’ll go out sometime today and get it. Within reason.”

Genji writes in small, precise handwriting as Jack starts up the bacon. At being told there was no egg preference, he does over-easy for both of them, filling plates up with greasy goodness. A quick look around tells him there’s no toaster, so he shrugs and fries a few slices of bread up crisp in the remaining bacon fat. 

Hanzo wanders in, and Jack pulls his eyes away from the flexing muscles as he ties his hair back. He’s in a thin pair of boxers and a loose sleeveless shirt - both deceptively expensive to Jack’s trained eye. “Breakfast?” he asks in a rough voice, and Jack pushes over his own plate before starting in on ingredients for a third. Hanzo murmurs his thanks.

A few bites in, and Hanzo looks like he might be in his own private heaven. He chews slowly, savoring. Jack gets distracted enough by the expression on his face that the bacon nearly burns. He turns away, intent on breakfast and breakfast only. Hanzo says something to Genji in Japanese, only for Genji to kick him gently in the ankle with a bare foot.

“Be polite, use English. Special Agent Morrison made this for us.”

Hanzo blinks slowly, nods sleepily. “I was just saying that any one of my trainers would have my hide for this. Such rich food is not part of my meal plans.”

“The trainers are half a world away, and you need to live a little. Here, write down things that they can buy for us so we don’t starve or balloon up.” Genji pushes the notepad with the shopping list over to Hanzo, sucking his fingers clean of grease first. “Add to it so you don’t bitch.”

Jack listens to them quietly argue as he cooks his own food, plating it and leaning up against the counter as he eats. Hanzo’s writing is precisely looped, what Jack remembers his grandfather calling ‘copperplate’. Not even his native language and it’s a damn sight better than Jack’s own chickenscratch. Of course, Jack didn’t grow up with what was probably an English instructor with Oxford training, or whatever the hell the Shimadas had.

He’s mechanically eating, and it’s not ‘til his fork is scraping the plate that Jack realizes he’s been absently watching Genji and Hanzo’s hands fly back and forth in conversation. Genji’s fingers are long, elegant, with almost oddly large knuckles, while Hanzo’s are shorter, squarer. Both look calloused and competent.

Jack blinks and looks up to find Genji looking at him with a contemplative cast to his face. Internally shaking his head at himself, Jack gathers the dirty dishes and piles them in the sink - Gabe and Ana can clean up after them. He’s had a twelve hour shift and is obviously starting to lose it if he’s staring at hands and thinking of what they could do and  _ christ _ Morrison, get a hold of yourself.

By the time he’s gathered his things together it’s eight and Ana is letting herself in the door. She hands a travel cup of coffee to Jack with a “Guess who’s late again” and a roll of her eyes. Gabriel has finally settled down in his old age and found a boyfriend, who supposedly works nights and has been making Gabriel late for work for the first time in his life.

Jack sighs and turns, only to be brought up short by Genji, lurking right behind him. This is their first time really face to face, and Jack is surprised by how much shorter the other man is. “Yeah?” he says, failing to sound particularly pleasant with a lack of sleep.

“So, Special Agent Morrison…” Jack can hear Ana snorting in the background. “How long do we have you with us?”

Jack shrugs as he turns and gets his bag. “A week or so, I’m not sure.”

“Mmm,” Genji says, nonsensically. “Much can happen in a week.”

Jack gives him a steady look to hide his confusion -  _ what? _ \- and hands the night’s notes over to Ana. “You have any issues with them?” he asks in a low voice when Genji is far enough away.

“No, but I don’t think I’m quite their...type,” she says, laughter in her remaining eye. Jack grumbles his way out the door. 

He runs into Gabriel on the path up to the house. “You’ve got something, right...there…” Jack says, jabbing a finger into a dark mark half hidden by the collar of Gabriel’s shirt. He gets a halfhearted punch to the ribs and a snarled curse in retaliation.

One night down.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“How was it?”

Gabriel shrugs, cracks his neck. The Shimadas are nowhere to be seen, the door to their bedroom firmly shut. “Boring as hell.” He waves a stack of paperwork at Jack. “Got caught up on all of my outstanding D5s, so I can’t complain.”

“But you will.”

“Of course.”

Ana gathers up her own things - files and papers, yes, but Jack can see a few lurid covers of the trashy murder mystery novels that she devours and pretends she’s too good for. “Good reading?” he asks her blandly, to get a kick in the ankle in response.

“The younger one said that he was going to ask you something, don’t know what,” she says in reply. “Looks like someone has become popular.”

Jack rolls his eyes. Genji is sly and just barely a former gangster, he doesn’t trust anything that will come out of his mouth.

There’s about fifteen minutes of calm before Jack turns his head at the faint sound of footsteps. Genji is slinking out, clad in expensive athleisure. He looks vaguely annoyed for a moment that Jack noticed him. “Special Agent Morrison.” There’s a very...personal tone to his voice, like they’re friends. Or something else.

“Good evening,” Jack says neutrally.

“How was your day?”

Jack eyes him warily. “I slept.”

“Oh?”

“I’m up and patrolling while you two sleep, this is work.”

Genji is draped over the loveseat, legs absently moving as they dangle off the armrest. His toes are long and bony, Jack finds himself noticing despite himself. “So you did poke your head in our room, then.”

Jack flips through files. “You snore.”

Genji sits up, offended. “I do not!”

Hanzo opens the bedroom door only to blink at a blistering screed in Japanese from Genji. “You do snore,” he says, before following up with, “Did you ask him?”

“I was getting to it,” Genji says, sounding rather petulant for a grown man. He perks up once he looks at Jack. “We were wondering - could you get any of our items that were left in our hotel room? We had just a few minutes to pack, and we left behind some things that were - of importance.”

Jack thinks for a moment. “I don’t see why you couldn’t at least try. Make a list, make sure it’s of the actually important things, and I can pass it on.”

Both men nod their thanks, and Jack starts in on his paperwork.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Special Agent Morrison,” a voice purrs from behind Jack. He doesn’t jump, he’s too well-trained for that, but he’s annoyed that Genji managed to sneak up on him.

“Mr. Shimada.”

“Call me Genji, please.” When Jack merely nods and doesn’t respond with anything like ‘call me Jack’, Genji huffs and flops down in the loveseat across from Jack. “It’s been a long time since lunch.”

“I’m sure it has.”

Genji waits, but Jack doesn’t have anything further to say. “I told you that neither of us know how to cook. We’d be very grateful if you could make us dinner.”

Jack looks up for the first time, fixes Genji with a stare. “I’m an FBI agent, not a babysitter and certainly not a chef, much less your chef. Make your own food.”

“Mr Morrison.” Hanzo’s deeper voice comes from the kitchen table, where he sits with a book in front of him. “Genji is right in that we have distinct...gaps in our knowledge due to how we grew up. We are also trapped here with only the few books we could grab,” Hanzo waves the volume he’s reading in the air, it looks to be Japanese poetry, “and no internet. Whoever did the shopping brought back raw ingredients. Unless you can bring us a cookbook or at least some recipes, it would appear that we are stuck asking you for help.”

Jack blinks. What a slick little diplomat he is. He also, Jack reluctantly admits as he gets up to look through the refrigerator and pantry, has a point.

“You,” he points to Genji. “Are helping. And you,” the finger jabs at Hanzo, “Write this down so that you can do it yourself next time.”

It’s hard to fuck up chili. Jack does wish he had actual spices he could measure out instead of just a couple of packets of taco and fajita seasoning - he’s sure he’ll catch hell from Gabriel tomorrow, but Gabriel can take his spices and his no-beans-in-chili-ever opinions and shove them. 

Jack directs Genji, who proves surprisingly capable of following directions, and terrifyingly competent with a knife in his hands. Tomatoes are reduced to a pile of tumbling cubes in mere seconds, and Jack eyes the knife with a sense of wariness before handing Genji a spatula and teaching him to break up meat. 

Hanzo takes neat notes, both on the recipe they were actually creating and what Jack wishes they had the ingredients for. Jack sets him to making a salad when the chili is simmering. His knife skills prove as disturbingly good as Genji’s, with the carrots demolished a little more thoroughly than Jack had wanted.

Happily Hanzo can make rice on his own, and on the stovetop, even. Jack wishes they had the makings for cornbread, or even some sour cream, but a lonely bag of shredded cheddar will have to do.

It’s far from the best thing he’s ever cooked, but you wouldn’t know it from the reaction of the Shimadas. Genji is vocal, all nigh-pornographic moans and chattering about how much easier it was than he thought it would be. Hanzo is quieter, more thoughtful. Eats a spoonful then looks through the recipe again, like he’s trying to figure out how it’s all put together.

“I assume you two can handle cleanup?” Two nods in response, so Jack goes and does his ten pm rounds. Everything is quiet.

Sometime later, Jack’s head turns. The house is quiet, just the chugging of the dishwasher and the faint hum of the fridge to disturb the silent suburban night. The Shimadas are in their room, door firmly closed. There’s something off though, Jack just knows it. 

He gets up, checks the front and back door locks. Pulls aside the curtains of the big picture windows to peer outside. Walks into the kitchen to look out the side window, and promptly slips and falls on his ass.

“What the hell?” The floor is absolutely covered with soap suds, piled up in drifts nearly a foot high and still leaking out the sides of the dishwasher. 

“Shimadas!”

The two men appear gratifyingly fast, although surprisingly it’s Hanzo that has to turn away and hide his laughter at Jack flat on the floor and covered in soap scum.

“I thought you two said you could clean up.”

“We did! We loaded the dishes in, put in the little packet thing, and started it up!” Genji says, frantic as he tries to help Jack up. 

“What little packet thing?” Jack asks, finally upright and clutching the kitchen counter.

Hanzo and Genji look at each other and silently argue with their eyebrows before Hanzo apparently loses, picking his way gingerly across the floor until he can pull open the cabinet under the sink and wave a box that says ‘Gain plus Aroma Boost! Now in Island Breeze scent!’

Jack sighs. “That’s laundry detergent. The dishwasher uses tablets, in the box over there.”

“Oh.”

He stands there, dripping in silence, as they all contemplate the situation. 

“Mr Morrison, I have a spare pair of pants that might fit you,” Hanzo finally says. “You can get changed and we can begin cleaning this up.”

Jack doesn’t want anything from these men, these criminals but. 

But.

But they ate his chili and wrote down the recipe carefully and he can feel his asscheeks sliding together because his entire lower half is covered in fucking Gain plus Aroma Boost.

“Yeah, okay.”

He cleans his feet off enough with a dishtowel that he won’t leave island breeze-scented footprints, and accepts the pile of grey fabric that Hanzo hands him. Jack doesn’t like being in the bathroom while they’re out in the house, so he changes as quickly as possible. The pants are thankfully basic sweatpants with some stretch to them, thank god, or his thighs never would have fit. He’s going to have to be careful when he bends over for the rest of the day.

Jack isn’t sure if they’re supposed to be short or his legs are just that long, but it doesn’t really matter once he rinses his boots off in the sink and the cuffs of the pants get tucked inside. When he exits the bathroom both Shimadas look him over, lingeringly. Genji like he’s about to start licking his lips, Hanzo with eyes that stay just a little too long below Jack’s waist.

“Is everything cleaned up?”

“Relatively, though I would be careful walking around until everything is dry,” Genji says. More subdued: “We did the dishes by hand.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the night passes without incident, though both men spend a few hours in the living room with Jack, watching cooking shows and quietly commenting to each other throughout. 

Something in Jack is amused and warmed by it, though he keeps his eyes on his files every time they look over to him. 

He manages to avoid too many comments from Ana and Gabriel in the morning, happy just to get out of the house. He doesn’t like going commando - much less in someone else’s pants - under the best of circumstances, let alone at work. Having the Shimadas sit across from him and Jack being so aware of his dick in his borrowed pants, tucked carefully to the right, was not how he liked to spend an evening.

Jack still washes and folds the pants carefully before tucking them in his work bag. It’s only polite.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The next night starts out quietly enough - a dinner of shepherd’s pie that Jack walks Hanzo through while Genji makes a salad, then a few hours of tv in the living room. The Shimadas argue over game show answers while Jack reads.

Genji vanishes after a while, though Hanzo stays. He goes over into the corner where the treadmill is and pulls a yoga mat out from where it had been hidden beside it. He starts an obviously practiced routine, sliding easily from form to form as naturally as breathing. Jack has to turn away pointedly before he watches too closely.

This is the delicate time in every operation. The time Jack hates. When their witnesses start becoming people, start becoming interesting past their usefulness in the case. This is why Jack went into the Academy instead of the Marshals service - he liked coming up with plans, executing them, and shooting at people from a distance. 

Shit like witnesses and informants...the more you cared about them, the more trouble they were worth. The more danger they’d put themselves in.

No, thank you. Jack would stick to the shooting.

There’s a murmur in the background: Genji talking to Hanzo as he continues his yoga routine. After a few minutes, Genji ambles over and settles on his usual spot on the loveseat, a notebook and pen in hand.

“You said that they might be able to get some items for us from our hotel room, yes?”

Jack grunts an assent.

“Even if the items are of a more...delicate nature.” 

Managing to keep from rolling his eyes, Jack turns a page. “I don’t particularly care about the nature of any of your belongings, Mr. Shimada.”

Genji snorts, before starting to write, deliberately. “Hanzo’s journals...the books from father...my wrist braces...Hanzo’s strap-on…” There’s a pause, where Jack can tell he’s supposed to react. He really doesn’t care what they get up to in the bedroom. 

He doesn’t.

Jack calmly turns another page, and Genji sighs and continues. “The tsuba collection...ah, Mr Morrison?”

“Mmm.”

“If there happened to be in our rooms, a non-distributary amount, a, a -  _ recreational _ amount of coke…”

“Regular or diet? Put it on the grocery list. Just don’t put any of the weird flavors like vanilla or lime, Reyes won’t stop bitching about it.”

Jack has to bite back a smile at Genji’s quiet sigh of obvious frustration. Hey, his paperwork isn’t  _ that _ interesting, he’s gotta get his kicks somehow.

Genji keeps writing - silently - for another few minutes before flouncing off to the bedroom. Jack has pretty much forgotten about Hanzo doing his yoga routine in the corner when he speaks up.

“I apologize for his inappropriateness, Mr Morrison. He’s not used to being so - stuck in one place. I fear he’s acting out, much as he did when we were children.” Hanzo’s smile is slightly bitter.

“And you?”

“Pardon?”

“How are you handling the -” Jack looks for a word other than ‘captivity’. “Isolation?”

Hanzo shrugs elegantly. “I have always been more of a - homebody? Is that the right word? - than Genji. I find it easier to...entertain myself.”

There’s something in that last line that makes Jack pause before looking up at Hanzo’s steady gaze.

Bullshit.

He speaks more politely but he’s just as bad as Genji. More subtle, but he’s still standing just a few feet away from Jack with clinging pants and shirt and a sheen of sweat highlighting his muscles so perfectly it could have been airbrushed on. A tilt to his hips that strikes a purposeful pose.

“Mm.” Jack just gives a grunt of affirmation and turns deliberately back to his files.

Hanzo rolls his mat up, and opens the door to their bedroom. Jack sets his files aside, opens up a novel and tries to get lost in another person’s life for a while.

An hour or so later Jack goes on his rounds, checking doors and windows. It’s hard, at this point, to not get complacent. To let a round go, to skip a room. He can’t forget the body count of this family, though. How easy it would be to add Hanzo and Genji to the number of the dead.

He turns out the lights as he goes, leaving the house dark and quiet. Pausing in the hallway, Jack stops to listen. There’s noise, just at the edge of his hearing. Genji’s tablet, perhaps? Glancing around, he notices the door to the Shimada’s room is open, just a few inches. Moonlight is streaming into the hallway and Jack steps closer, intending to check the room as well as tell them to close their curtains.

Instead, Jack freezes with his hand on the door handle. Those sounds - he can identify them now.

Through the crack in the door Jack can see Hanzo spread out on the bed, nude, his muscles looking like they’re carved from marble in the cold light from the window. Genji is kneeling on the floor, mouth buried between Hanzo’s legs. 

It sounds positively obscene, now that Jack is close enough to really hear. Hanzo is clearly trying to keep quiet, wrist clamped between his teeth and his head thrown back. It can’t muffle the soft whines and whimpers that come from his throat, though. His hair spills over the pillows like so much silk, shifting as Hanzo writhes. 

Genji isn’t much better - his mouth works wet and noisy and filthy against Hanzo, pulling back every once in awhile to catch his breath, the light shining off of slick folds for a bare moment before he dives back in. There’s another softer, more rhythmic noise, that Jack realizes is Genji’s right hand working between his own legs, stroking himself fast and frantic. His free hand clutches at Hanzo’s thigh, and somehow that desperate, tight grip is what makes Jack look away.

Jack is suddenly, horribly aware of his own body. Of his breath coming quick and quiet, of his cock hanging thick between his legs, of his fingers sweating and slipping on the doorknob. 

He lets go of the door carefully, backs away with all of his stealth training. Walking into the living room he turns on a table lamp, wincing at the soft glow. Jack sits there, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling and mind running through every detail he can remember about the testimony he gave for his last case right down to the color of the prosecutor’s tie, until the blood in his body has returned to the proper places.

Two hours later Jack goes on his rounds like usual. The door to the bedroom is still cracked, but now the only noises coming from it are the deep breaths of sleep. 

Jack slips inside, steps in just enough to pull the curtains shut. The room smells heavy, heady, like sex and flesh and bad decisions. As Jack pulls the door shut he can see a faint glint from the bed, where the dim hallway light reflects off of Hanzo’s eye.

Pulling the door shut, Jack takes a deep breath of fresh air and sends curses up to a god he hasn’t believed in for decades.

-x-x-x-x-x-

A frown on his face, Gabriel rummages through his briefcase. “Ana, did you take the files that the prosecutor gave us yesterday?”

She looks up from where she’s pouring her coffee into Jack’s travel mug, shaking her head. “No, remember, you were supposed to email Petras as soon as you went over what Gérard had dug up.”

“Huh. Must have left it at home.” Gabriel leaves his things alone and takes a good look at Jack for the first time that morning. “You look like shit.”

“I’m aware,” Jack grunts out, taking Ana’s coffee. Bless her and her willingness to share caffeine so he can at least drive home without crashing his car. “I hate the night shift.”

“How was the babysitting?”

Jack gives Gabriel a half-hearted glare. “They are...trying. Genji has a list of shit he wanted from the hotel room they were hustled out of. I don’t know if they actually want it here or just don’t want it thrown away, I’m sure they’ll harass you at some point about it.”

Gabriel claps Jack on the back, rubs at his neck for a moment. Jack closes his eyes - it’s been...a long damn while since he’s gotten laid, and it doesn’t help to remember his and Gabriel’s fling some fifteen years back. Warm fingers dig into tight muscle, and it’s almost painful to step away.

He shakes off Gabriel’s hand, nods his thanks to Ana, and walks tiredly to his car. He’s going to fall asleep the second he walks through his door. 

That or jack off, but he’s not going to think about that while he’s anywhere near this fucking suburban hellhole.

-x-x-x-x-x-

At eight pm, Jack has decided his mission. No cute cooking lessons, no conversations about childhood food: they’re going to eat sandwiches and then shut up while Jack works on all this shit Petras emailed him about all of half an hour ago -

That lasts all of one minute after Gabriel and Ana leave, he walks into the kitchen and Genji says excitedly, “We made you enchiladas!”

“What,” Jack says blankly, blinking at the sight of Hanzo and Genji in aprons with smears of sauce everywhere.

After exchanging a quick look with Hanzo, Genji steps forward. “We know we haven’t been the - easiest to look after, and you’ve been nothing but helpful and teaching us how to cook, so we wanted to do something for you. Mr. Reyes walked us through it.”

“He was much less patient than you,” Hanzo murmurs, and Jack has to hide a smile. It does smell like Gabriel’s recipe, one he’s eaten innumerable times over the years. A timer goes off, and Hanzo pulls a bubbling pan out of the oven. 

Dinner is surprisingly enjoyable, Hanzo and Genji talking easily about when they had visited Spain and Portugal and the food they’d had there. They prod Jack into explaining some of the differences in cuisine between the various cultures that made up LA, and are surprised to learn he isn’t from there at all.

“Indiana. That is...potatoes?” Hanzo asks.

“No, that’s Iowa,” Genji corrects.

“It’s Idaho, actually,” Jack says in amusement. He can’t look down on them - they have a better grasp of states than half of Americans, and Jack certainly wouldn’t be able to name any Japanese prefectures with a gun to his head. “Indiana is all corn and manufacturing. Almost everyone I went to high school with ended up on a farm or in a factory.”

Hanzo crunches through a round of cucumber picked out of his salad. “And yet you ended up here.”

“Yep.” Rather than elaborate, Jack gathers the empty plates from the table and starts to store the leftovers.

Everything gets put away in companionable silence. Jack is about to leave for the living room when Genji looks up at him with wide eyes.

“What.”

“I haven’t even asked anything yet, and already you’re turning me down!”

Hanzo snorts. “Like your ploys aren’t transparent. Just ask.”

“Listen, this isn’t even for me, you’re the one -” Genji retorts before Hanzo interrupts him.

“ _ I’m _ the one? You’re the one who is always chewing on candy -”

“Candy! As if you didn’t eat that entire Christmas cake yourself!”

“Shimadas.” Jack’s voice can cut through a battleground, two bickering men is nothing in comparison. As silence rings out through the room, he raises an eyebrow in wordless question.

“Do you have any dessert recipes? We - both, actually, have something of a sweet tooth,” Hanzo says finally.

Jack can’t stop from rolling his eyes, but is already pulling open cabinet doors. There’s...not much. He turns to the Shimadas, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Now when you say you have a sweet tooth, do you mean fancyass patisserie desserts that your chef could whip up, or just...sweet?”

“Hanzo would dump sugar on plain rice as a child,” Genji says immediately, and Hanzo slaps him hard in the chest. 

“Okay, then. Well, get ready for the worst of the Midwest,” Jack says with more determination than enjoyment in his voice.

He pulls a few boxes out of the pantry, a carton out of the fridge, starts up a pot of coffee. The Shimadas look on in interest. Jack turns to them: “Have you ever had tiramisu?”

Nods.

“This is nothing like that.”

Jack sets down a casserole dish and a smaller bowl, opening up the closest box. “These,” he says, waving a cellophane wrapped package in the air. “Are zebra cakes. There is nothing redeeming nutrition-wise about them, most people don’t eat them past the age of fifteen. Unless you’re Gabriel Reyes.”

He opens the package and pulls one of the cakes apart, scraping the icing into the smaller bowl before setting the two cake halves in the casserole dish. “Do that until the bottom of the dish is covered.”

Jack watches them until he realizes he’s just watching their sticky, white cream-covered fingers, and goes to check on the coffee. He pours a cup, taking a sip before he dumps it all over the cakes. Hanzo and Genji watch as Jack opens up the bottle of protein powder that Ana brought, putting a few scoops in with the scraped off icing. He adds some milk then hands the whole thing along with a whisk to Hanzo. “Whisk it until your arm hurts.”

He shows them how to construct the casserole of terrors: cake, coffee, protein fluff, repeat. There’s no cocoa to be found so he drizzles some possibly-expired chocolate syrup he finds at the back of the fridge on top.

“It’ll be ready in an hour or so,” Jack says, shoving it to the back of the fridge. “Don’t tell anyone I had any part in it, I might get charged with a war crime.”

Genji wanders off laughing, saying he’s going to see if there are any good baking shows on the television. Hanzo is hunched over the notebook with recipes, writing down the procedure even though Jack tells him not to. “No really, you should never make this. It’s the terrible kind of shit my friends and I would make in high school when we we’d never heard of things like ‘heart disease’.”

“Someday I will look back on these notebooks fondly, Mr - ah,  _ chikushō _ !” 

As Hanzo is speaking, Jack slips on the remnants of detergent scum on the floor and the nigh-boiling cup of coffee he’d been holding and waiting to cool down spills down Hanzo’s upper back. 

“Ah, fuck,” Jack mutters to himself before tossing the cup aside and grabbing Hanzo. “Come on, come on, bathroom.”

“I can take care of it myself -”

“No.”

Genji is standing in the living room looking on in confusion - Jack just hustles Hanzo past him towards the bathroom. They both squint as Jack flicks on the bright lights, and Jack motions for Hanzo to sit on the closed toilet as he pulls a first aid kit out from underneath the sink.

“I apologize, Hanzo, I didn’t mean -”

“It’s fine, Mr Morrison. It was our fault for not cleaning up thoroughly enough.”

“Still.”

The kit is well stocked, thankfully. “Can you lift your arms up? Slowly, now.” Together they get Hanzo’s shirt off of him. The burn is on his left shoulder, only a few inches away from his tattoo. A myriad of small blisters are already rising, making Jack wince.

He wets some gauze in cool water, pressing it gently to the red skin. Hanzo flinches just slightly, but doesn’t otherwise react.  _ Tough guy _ , Jack thinks automatically, before he happens to glance over the rest of Hanzo’s back and freezes.

The word ‘scars’ doesn’t really cover what’s happened to his skin. Jack has spent enough time investigating the cartels - he knows what it looks like after you’ve been whipped. After you’ve been whipped with chains. There are slashes and cuts and punctures - Jack is reminded of that old woodcut, ‘The Wound Man’, that showed up in a bunch of his training books back in the day. If you removed all the weapons from that drawing and let it heal - Hanzo might be the result.

Jack gently moves the gauze, presses a newly cool section to the burn. He can’t stop his right hand from tracing a strange, wavy line meandering down the right side of Hanzo’s spine. It’s too regular to be accidental, but is nothing a doctor would cut. It’s - purposeful.

“What happened to you?” he finds himself murmuring without meaning to.

Hanzo is silent as Jack pulls the gauze away, as he pats the burn dry with a new piece. As Jack’s blunt fingers smooth burn cream over the palm-sized patch of blisters as carefully as he can, he feels Hanzo take a breath beneath his hand.

“I’m sure your records show that we tried to escape from the clan, many times.” Hanzo shrugs with his unburned shoulder. “A few are the aftermath of that. The rest is just the cost of being a Shimada.”

Jack’s brain can’t help but go back to the night before, seeing Genji bent over in the moonlight. “Genji doesn’t seem as marked up.”

“He was younger, I protected him as much as I could. And don’t let his attitude fool you, the worst damage is always under the skin.” As Jack smooths the tape holding the gauze over the burn cream in place, Hanzo stands. “Thank you, Mr Morrison.”

He’s just inches away in the small bathroom when he turns, his eyes a surprisingly clear grey-brown. Jack’s mouth wants to say  _ Call me Jack _ but instead says the more sensible “I apologize again, Hanzo.”

Hanzo smiles, something soft and private and close, and Jack might stop breathing for a moment. When he brushes by Jack, the warmth of his bare skin seems to linger. Jack shakes his head at himself. He’s getting too attached, too - stupid about this. He cleans up, throwing away gauze and empty packets before putting the kit back together and storing it.

When he comes out, Hanzo is nowhere to be seen and Genji is turning the television off, tossing the remote aside. “He went to bed early,” Genji says to Jack’s unasked question.

Genji runs a hand through his unruly hair before crossing his arms. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Hanzo is - not good at taking care of himself. At letting others take care of him, even when he needs it.” For one of the first times during their acquaintance, Jack feels like he’s seeing  _ Genji _ and not a persona. 

He nods, hesitantly. “He ah, should be patched up. Keep an eye on it, if it starts leaking through the gauze let me know, I’ll be up.” Jack tosses a bottle over, that Genji catches handily. “Have him take a few of those, it’ll help with swelling as well as pain.”

Genji gives him a small smile, both eerily reminiscent of and yet very different from Hanzo’s. He’s gone a moment later, leaving Jack alone in the room with his thoughts.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Perhaps an hour later Genji appears, padding into the kitchen and retrieving the not-tiramisu. Some time later he comes back out with a half-empty dish as Jack exits one of the spare bedrooms on his nightly rounds.

Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Jack watches as Genji puts the dish back into the fridge. “I’m not going to pretend that it was  _ good _ ,” Genji says wryly, “But it scratched a certain itch.” He pats his stomach. “I’m fairly sure I’m going to pay for it later.”

Jack can’t help but smile a bit. “I told you it wasn’t tiramisu.”

“That you did.” Genji notices that Jack is following him. “Come to join us, Mr Morrison?” 

Jack ignores his tone of voice. “I’m on my rounds. And I want to look at Hanzo’s shoulder.” 

Hanzo is stretched out in bed on his stomach, shirtless. Pantsless too, probably, given how low the sheet is on his hips. 

“Hanzo,” Jack says. “I’m here to look at your shoulder for just a moment.” Hanzo turns his head slowly and when he opens his eyes, his pupils are like deep, inky wells. 

“Go right ahead, Mr Morrison.” It’s more of a slur than a sentence. 

Jack shoots Genji a look. “What’d you give him?”

Genji flaps a hand. “Nothing serious, just something to kill the pain a bit.” 

Sighing, Jack peels back the gauze. “We need  _ two _ witnesses for the trial. Make sure he stays in one piece, please.” The burn looks okay, relatively speaking - no weeping and the skin has calmed.

A glance outside shows the night is calm. “Have a good evening, gentlemen,” Jack says, receiving a quiet  _ good night _ from Genji and a wordless murmur from Hanzo.

Jack spends the rest of his night reading about the crimes of the Shimada clan, and wondering which ones the men under his care carried out, and which were inflicted upon them.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“It looks like the trial’s going to be coming up fast, out of necessity.” Ana had waited for the Shimadas to leave the room before talking, and Jack quirks an eyebrow at her. “Fawkes over in the gang unit, you know him? No? Good, he’s a lunatic. Anyways, he says that there’s some worrying local activity, like maybe things have been outsourced to here.”

“Christ. Did the clan have much connections with drugs? Are we going to have cartels on our backs?”

Ana shrugs. “I don’t know yet, just that Gérard now wants them on the stand sooner rather than later. Like maybe tomorrow, so tell them to get a good night’s sleep.”

Jack snorts. “That’s not up to me.”

“Sure, Mr Babysitter. Just slip something into those meals you keep making them.”

“Excuse me, I - well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jack says, interrupting himself as Gabriel opens the door. He looks somewhat less put together than usual - tie loose, hair actually disordered instead of its carefully sculpted chaos.

“Don’t get me goddamn started,” Gabriel snarls as he tosses his briefcase on the couch. “Fuckin’ eight am, and everything has been going wrong all morning. I finally found those files from yesterday, sitting right on top of my desk where I swear I’d looked a hundred times. Then I lost my goddamn phone, and I turned my entire place upside down before I finally found it under Jesse’s pants. And now the damn thing keeps glitching, my GPS app totally shut down and I had to get here by memory.”

Jack silently passes him the coffee that he’d made for himself. Gabriel throws half of it back before wincing at the taste. “That much sugar is vile, Morrison.”

“Then make your own.” Jack pauses, smiles. “Actually, there’s some food you might appreciate in the fridge.”

Gabriel casts a baleful eye in his direction before opening up the fridge. “Oh Christ. You didn’t actually feed them that, did you? I’m pretty sure you just violated the Geneva Convention.”

Jack laughs his way out the door. 

-x-x-x-x-x-

That evening, the Shimadas can tell that something is up with Jack. It’s not like he can hide it, checking the windows more often than he should, actually texting Moira for updates. 

“I can’t talk to you about it,” he finally says when they ask. “Just - be ready to go to trial sooner rather than later.”

“How soon?” asks Hanzo, and the serious look on both the Shimadas’ faces compels Jack to be honest. 

“Soon like make sure your suits are ironed and you get some sleep tonight.”

The two men exchange glances and a few words in Japanese. “Perhaps something light for dinner, then,” Genji says. 

He makes rice, there’s a bit of leftover chili to go with it and a salad. Jack pushes the chili around his plate, makes himself eat most of the rice. He knows he needs the calories to keep himself alert and in the best shape for protection, but he’s always had a tight stomach before an op.

Not that this is an op, but - well. Close enough.

It’s a quiet night, perhaps the quietest since the first one. Genji disappears into the Shimadas’ room and doesn’t emerge. Hanzo goes with him, and when Jack goes on his rounds they’re curled up around the tablet watching something. Genji’s eyes are heavily lidded and looking a breath away from sleep as Hanzo absently strokes through his hair. 

Jack shuts the curtains to their room tighter than normal, and moves on.

After a while Hanzo comes out in his workout clothes and begins his yoga routine. It’s quiet enough that Jack forgets he’s there after a few minutes, absorbed in the new information passed on from the researchers back at the office.

He reads through detail after detail of Shimada crimes and wonders where he can see Hanzo’s fingerprints, where he can see Genji’s. He thinks about men - about boys - who never got a chance to spend time in a kitchen, who learned to dice flesh before vegetables.

At what point do you draw the line, do you separate out the upbringing from the man? Where did they have choices? Did they take them? Jack’s just a battered old FBI agent who lives alone with his thoughts clattering around an empty apartment - does he have any place to judge?

“You look deep in thought.”

Jack doesn’t jump at Hanzo’s voice, but it’s a near thing. He looks up at the man, whose skin shines with sweat from his workout in the faint light from the table lamp. He shuts the file carefully. “It’s nothing.”

Hanzo settles into the other corner of the couch, crossing his legs so one bare foot is close to brushing Jack’s knee. “Let me guess: a catalogue of our family’s misdeeds?”

Although Jack doesn’t answer, Hanzo gives a soft snort. “And I bet you’re wondering if you’re spending all this time and effort protecting a couple of...well. I don’t know what you even do think of us. Killers? Thugs? We’ve been called worse.”

“I won’t say I haven’t been wondering about your roles in all of this,” Jack says, watching Hanzo’s face. “Because you’re here and going to give testimony, and yet you have the last name that you do, and we have photo after photo of you two all cozy with Sojiro Shimada.”

“Yes, well,” Hanzo says after a pause, the only movement a slight tightening of his hand on the fabric over his thigh. “We all must bear the sins of our fathers.”

Jack’s eyebrows raise until they feel as though they’ll meet his hairline. “You - and Genji, both? - are Sojiro’s.” It’s a question, but it’s not. Puzzle pieces click into place in Jack’s brain with the faint sound of bones falling against each other.  _ Tick tick tick.  _ Men that cling together - and worse - like they did as boys because they were never allowed to grow up into anything different.

Hanzo nods anyways, eyes on his fingers that are now smoothing over already-flat fabric. “And so you see why it took until now for us to leave.”

“Hanzo.” Jack licks his lips, careful of how he words things, although there’s no one around to hear. “What do you know of how Sojiro died?”

Restless fingers still, and calm eyes look up to meet Jack’s. “Now Mr Morrison, I thought we weren’t supposed to discuss the case.”

“I wasn’t aware his death was part of the case.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Hanzo’s lips, tugs somewhere deep in Jack’s gut. “There is much the FBI is not aware of.”

“And yet you come to us for protection.”

“Yes, well, you certainly have your uses.” Hanzo smiles - wider but not exactly nicer - before getting up. “Tea?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before padding silently into the kitchen. After a few minutes he returns, handing Jack a mug before taking a seat with one of his own. Jack takes a polite sip, biting his lip so he doesn’t grimace. He’s never been one for bitter drinks, and Hanzo makes his strong. 

Jack cocks his head as Hanzo reaches forward to set his mug down, the peeling edge of tape peeking out from the loose collar of his shirt. “Have you changed the dressing on your shoulder?”

“It’s fine,” Hanzo says, but Jack is already getting up. If this is structured like every other safe house he’s been in, there should be another first aid kit - yep, under the sink. He fills a glass with the water that Hanzo helpfully just boiled for the tea, and goes back to the couch.

“Shirt off, back to me.” To Jack’s surprise, Hanzo doesn’t protest.

The injury looks both better and worse today - healing, but healing burns aren’t the most pleasant things to look at. Jack dips gauze in the boiled water and gently, gently, cleans off the old burn cream and the various fluids that have gathered and crusted over from ruptured blisters. 

He cleans carefully, aware that the disinfectant is painful but Hanzo doesn’t make a sound as it touches the torn flesh. Hanzo’s skin is warm - hot, almost, muscles still swollen and active from his workout. Jack cleans an already-clean spot over and over as he watches a bead of sweat slide its way lazily down the indent of Hanzo’s spine.

Jack shakes his head at himself sharply, puts the cream on with rougher fingers than he wants to. He can’t let his mind wander like that, to places it has no right to go.

He can’t do this.

Taping the gauze firmly in place, Jack turns away and repacks the kit. “You’re all good. You should try not to sleep on that shoulder, it’s what’s making the wound stick to the gauze.”

When he sits back down, Hanzo is standing with his back to Jack, carefully rotating his shoulder and stretching his arm. The tape holds - the FBI skimps on a lot of things but medical supplies aren’t one of them. Hanzo turns around, slowly, his shirt held loosely in his hands. There’s something of an unreadable expression on his face. Jack has only known him a few days but they’ve been long ones, and there’s something crossing the other man’s features that he can’t quite parse out, right up until Hanzo’s face smooths out like he’s made some kind of decision.

“Thank you,” he says finally, taking a step closer.

Jack shifts on the couch, a bit uncomfortable. “It took all of three minutes, it really didn’t -”

“Mr Morrison.” Another step closer. “Let me thank you.”

Hanzo puts a knee on the couch right next to Jack’s thigh and then swings his leg over to do the same on the other side and before Jack knows it there’s a heavy weight on his lap, dense muscle over hard bone and all of it wrapped in warm, damp skin.

“Hello,” Hanzo says quietly, and Jack can feel his breath against his own face as Hanzo settles down, sits his ass down on Jack’s thighs like he has any right to be there. Like he belongs there. Sliding even closer, he rests a delicate hand on Jack’s clavicle, playing with the collar of his shirt.

“Mr Shimada - ah - Hanzo - this is, not appropriate behavior, you need to -” Jack moves around in his seat, trying ineffectively to dislodge Hanzo without actually touching him. Hanzo just shifts easily with the movement, like Jack’s a recalcitrant horse that he’s training.

Finally Jack unclenches his hands and puts them on Hanzo’s hips - “Oh, yes, good move” - and tries to push him off. It’s like pushing at a brick wall fronted by winged bone, and Hanzo goes nowhere.

“Mr Morrison,” Hanzo says from just inches away and Jack stills, waiting to see what he has to say. Large, deceptively gentle fingers touch Jack’s chin, make him look up the few inches into Hanzo’s eyes. The only light here is the dim, soft glow of the table lamp, and its warm shine burnishes Hanzo’s skin and makes his eyes seem unfathomably deep.

“You take care of others as your job. You have taken care of us - beyond your job, beyond what you needed to.” A soft rasp, as Hanzo’s hand slides back to cradle Jack’s jaw, the day’s-end stubble scraping against his fingers. 

“It’s my job. And I can’t - we can’t  _ do _ this, Hanzo. I have responsibilities, and - and there’s the trial -”

Hanzo’s other hand is wrapped around the side of Jack’s neck now, palm on his pounding pulse and thumb stroking along his square jawline. “Here’s the thing, Mr Morrison. I’m hearing a bunch of flimsy excuses - flimsy I say because there is no one here but us, there is no surveillance but you yourself - but I’m not hearing anything about you not  _ wanting _ to.”

Jack wants to say no, of course, but then he’s always been a terrible liar. He closes his eyes in consternation, only to open them when Hanzo traces a finger along his cheekbone.

“You cook for us as if we were your family, tend to my wounds as gentle as a lover. But there’s no ring on your finger, no pictures of significant others in your wallet.” Hanzo shrugs as Jack raises an eyebrow. “Genji is a rather good pickpocket. My point is that you’ve taken such very good care of us, but who takes care of you? When you go home to wherever you live, is there any warmth for you there?”

Jack is undeniably hard in his pants, thumbs rubbing small absent circles over the soft skin of Hanzo’s bare hips. “Genji…”

“Is asleep, having taken something a little stronger than expected. Were he here, he would be sitting next to us watching. That is, if he hadn’t thrown himself upon you already. His self control is...somewhat lacking.”

Hanzo slides his hips forward, grinding down just a bit onto Jack and making him catch his breath. “But do you really want to be talking about Genji right now?” he murmurs before leaning forward just enough to catch Jack’s lips with his own.

Jack doesn’t kiss people much, as a rule. A peck on Ana or Fareeha’s cheek every once in a while, but that’s about it. When he wants to get laid he goes to West Hollywood and picks someone up, going to their place or a convenient bathroom, whichever the mood takes him to. He never takes anyone home, too much of a security risk. He’ll happily spend a few hours pounding someone through the mattress, going for as many rounds as they’re up for, but kissing? That’s too - far. Too intimate. Too -

Apparently Hanzo doesn’t care about any of that, because he kisses slow, kisses deep like it’s the end of the world, like Jack’s mouth is the only thing he’s ever wanted. The hair of his beard is smooth against Jack’s face, the hairs ruffled up as they catch on Jack’s own stubble. When Jack raises a hand to tilt Hanzo’s face into a better position, he makes a satisfied noise deep in his throat and licks behind Jack’s teeth.

Hanzo mouths his way down Jack’s throat but Jack pulls him off - he’s not going to end up looking like goddamn Gabriel, here. He tugs Hanzo’s face back to his own, Hanzo who kisses him long and slow and horribly intimate, like it’s something he has a right to do. He barely notices when Hanzo unbuttons his shirt, nor when undoes his belt and tugs his zipper down. He does notice when Hanzo slides off his lap and pulls Jack’s pants down to his knees.

Jack hooks a finger in Hanzo’s waistband and tugs, just once. “You too,” he says, and Hanzo pauses for just a moment before pulling his pants off - no underwear, Jack notes - and climbing naked right back on top of Jack.

He settles himself, Jack’s hands automatically going to his hips. Jack pauses after that, looking down at the neatly trimmed black hair that surrounds swollen, slick skin. He feels like he’s fifteen and in the back of his dad’s truck with Vincent - he theoretically knows what’s happening, but is distinctly lacking in practical knowledge.

Hanzo takes Jack’s hand, laces their fingers together. Guides his thumb until it strokes against warm, wet skin. Moves his hand up until Jack’s fingertips find stiffer, harder flesh, perhaps somewhat smaller than Jack is used to, but not wholly unfamiliar territory. 

“Here -” Hanzo starts to say, but it dissolves into a soft moan as Jack starts to stroke him. 

Jack learns Hanzo’s body quickly - he’s amazingly responsive, though not loud. A finger slipped inside makes his breath stutter in his chest, a particular twist of fingers has him clenching down. Another finger has Hanzo collapsing down to kiss Jack with slack lips, and when Jack circles his thumb over the head of Hanzo’s clit he can taste the quiet whine coming from the other man. 

It’s not long before Hanzo is digging his nails into Jack’s sides, mumbling to not stop, just like that - and soon he’s moaning wetly into Jack’s neck and clenching around his fingers hard enough to break them. 

Jack kisses Hanzo through the trembling aftermath, as he sits up slowly and blinks back to reality. When Jack pulls his fingers free with an obscene, wet sound, Hanzo catches his hand, licking his fingers clean as he looks Jack in the eyes. Jack throbs in his constricting underwear, painfully hard. It was a good thing Hanzo had pulled his pants down - Jack’s underwear is soaked in Hanzo, wet and smelling of pure sex. 

Hanzo pulls Jack’s underwear down to meet his pants, Jack’s cock slapping wetly against his bare stomach before climbing right back on. 

Jack puts a hand on Hanzo’s thigh. “Condoms? Lube?” 

Kissing Jack long and slow before just barely pulling back, Hanzo says, “It is up to you, but I have no need of condoms.” Jack nods hesitantly. It’s just one more bad decision in a night full of them, so why the fuck not. 

Hanzo then  _ slides _ his hips back and forth, Jack’s cock slipping between his wet, swollen lips. “Does it feel like we need lube, Mr Morrison?”

“Jack,” is the response before catching Hanzo’s mouth in a kiss. “Just - for now.”

“Jack,” Hanzo says slowly, like he’s savoring it. “I’m going to fuck you now, Jack.” He grabs Jack’s cock, giving it a slow, tight pump before positioning it and sinking down. 

_ Christ. _

Hanzo’s almost painfully tight but so wet Jack slides deep easily. Hanzo’s powerful thighs flex, and they start up a rhythm that’s almost terrifyingly easy, like it’s something they’ve done a dozen times before. Hanzo’s hair has come loose from its tie and falls around his face, around their faces like a curtain.

Jack reaches down, stroking Hanzo the best he can. Hanzo tightens around him, moaning into Jack’s mouth as Jack’s fingers twist around his clit in the tight space. Soon Hanzo gasps in, breath suspended as he clenches around Jack over and over. Jack works him through it, gentling his touch as Hanzo twitches in the aftermath.

Gentle but he doesn’t stop, whispering in Hanzo’s ear that he can go one more time, come on, come on. It takes a while, but soon Hanzo is driving his hips down onto Jack until he can’t anymore, until he’s shaking and burying his face into Jack’s neck. 

“I want -” he slurs into Jack’s ear before tiredly pushing his hips down. “I want to feel you, Jack.” 

Jack has both hands on Hanzo’s hips now, working him over Jack’s cock like Hanzo isn’t a solid slab of muscle. Even with Jack’s stamina, Hanzo wrapped around him and Hanzo whispering in his ear and Hanzo’s hands touching him everywhere prove to be a deadly combination. He pulls Hanzo down onto him as he feels the familiar tightening of his balls, closing his eyes as his cock throbs and he comes in long pulses deep inside. 

They stay together like that for a while, until Jack can feel himself softening and starting to slip out. He runs his hand through Hanzo’s hair, brushing it back and kissing him gently. Hanzo sits up and arches his back in a stretch, smiling down at Jack tiredly. 

Jack steadies him by the hip as he stands up, watching with satisfied, post-coital eyes as Hanzo slowly pulls his shirt and his pants on. Hanzo kneels, pulls Jack’s underwear up. Looking up slyly he licks Jack clean before tucking him inside, something that’s almost painful on Jack’s sensitive skin. Jack does up the buttons of his shirt as Hanzo pulls his pants up, rebuckling and rezipping him into the shape of a reasonable person instead of a debauched mess. 

They look at each other for long moments, Jack back in his FBI uniform and Hanzo standing in his yoga wear. Jack has to bite his lip as he notices the growing wet spot at Hanzo’s crotch, where Jack’s come is starting to seep out of him. “You should get cleaned up,” Jack says, and his already rough voice sounds like it’s been run over by a gravel truck.

Hanzo nods, giving Jack a long look before bending down for a soft, almost chaste kiss. He walks to his and Genji’s bedroom on quiet feet, closing the door silently behind him. 

Jack stares at the ceiling until his eyes blur, wondering what the fuck he’s going to do now.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Paperwork is what he does. He has to get up and splash water on his face and wash his hands, because everything to his nose smells like sex. Jack halfheartedly sprays some air freshener borrowed from the bathroom around the couch, and then has to move his work to the kitchen table so he doesn’t inhale the chemicals.

There’s an itch between Jack’s shoulderblades, something that isn’t going away. He wants to attribute it to the strange night and how he sometimes feels like Hanzo’s lips are still on his, but it’s something else. Half of Jack has always thought gut instinct was a bunch of bullshit, and the other half of him is pacing in front of the curtained off front windows. He straps his shoulder holster on, feeling like an idiot as he does so but something in his shoulders relaxes after.

When he checks on them, the Shimadas are fine. Genji is out, breathing deeply through his nose. The first check Hanzo looks up at Jack sleepily with a small smile on his face before nestling deeper into the blankets. After that, he’s asleep as deeply as Genji.

It’s almost a relief when the front window shatters at five in the morning and a stun grenade bounces at Jack’s feet. 

Jack’s so on edge that he’s crouched down in just a second, using the manilla folders in his hands to flip the grenade right back through the hole in the window. Thankfully whoever threw it wasn’t used to the delay between pulling the pin and detonation, because it gets all the way outside before going off. 

The concussion shatters the remnants of the front windows, as well as the small kitchen window and the glass screen in front of the fireplace. Jack has just enough time to get to his bag and snatch up a spare clip to shove in his pocket before people are coming in through the window frames.

There’s five of them that Jack can see - not bad shots, but they have pistols instead of the expected automatic weapons of the cartel so they’re almost laughably slow. Jack kills two of them quickly, going for headshots as he can’t tell what kind of body armor they have under their clothing.

“What the hell -” Genji has the bedroom door open, knuckling sleep from his eyes. Jack throws himself in front of the other man, pushing him aside just in time to take a bullet to the meat of his upper left arm. 

“Get back inside,” he snarls over the thunder of bullets. Before he can do more than shove Genji back, something whistles by his head and there’s a loud cracking noise before one of the invaders topples backwards slowly.

Everything pauses for a moment, all attention on Hanzo who now has one empty hand, the other one filled with another ten pound barbell like the one he had just thrown.

Jack uses the pause to take a breath before shooting one of the men dead. Damnit, he doesn’t actually want to kill all of them - they need someone to get information out of.

There’s one left, and from how he’s been growling instructions and hanging slightly back, he appears to be the leader. The gun in his hands is absolutely enormous and nothing Jack wants anywhere near himself. 

Throwing himself forward and trying not to think about the damage he’s doing to his arm, Jack tackles the man. The man’s gun goes flying, but Jack’s does as well. They roll over and over on the living room floor, destroying the coffee table and slamming into the couch. Jack has the man nearly pinned down, but his left arm is useless for anything like restraint or choking him out. 

“Jack!” 

Jack’s head jerks up, and yanks his right hand free so Hanzo can slap his gun into it. The man below him smacks Jack in the face, making him see stars, but Jack is close enough that it’s the work of seconds to flip his gun around and pistolwhip him, neatly knocking him out with a blow to the temple.

One eye already swelling shut, Jack looks up at Hanzo and Genji, both of whom have weapons - is that a goddamned bow and arrow? - in their hands. “Cords,” he says, before coughing a bit. “Or ropes. Something strong to tie him up with.”

The Shimadas sacrifice the belts of their silk robes - “Silk ropes are a classic weapon,” Genji points out almost cheerfully - and Jack ties the man up and gags him as the brothers drag the four dead bodies into the kitchen.

Jack is staring dully down at their prisoner, phone in his hand, when Hanzo sits down beside him. “Your arm, Mr Morrison,” he says gently, and Jack looks over to see the mess of blood and torn flesh that is his left bicep. Hanzo wraps it tightly in a dishtowel.

“Are the police coming?” Genji asks curiously.

“Maybe, probably not. There aren’t that many occupied houses around here so, I don’t know.” 

“Shouldn’t you - make the call then?”

Jack rubs at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. This is going to be a nightmare.”

Genji sits on the loveseat, brushing off pieces of the shattered coffee table first. “Because the trial is about to start.”

“No, no.” Jack looks into the now-awake face of their prisoner, furious brown eyes glaring up at him from under a cowboy hat knocked askew. “Because that, Genji, is Jesse McCree. Agent Gabriel Reyes’ boyfriend.” 

With a tired sigh, Jack dials his emergency extraction number.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The aftermath is brutal.

Jack misses the worst of it because he’s in surgery to piece his arm back together into something that doesn’t resemble pulled pork. The bullet missed the bone, but the ridiculously large caliber meant that he had to be put back together with tweezers and infinitely tiny stitches.

Gabriel is raked over the coals by every person with the slightest bit of seniority until it’s clear that he’d been used by Jesse without his knowledge. He comes to Jack’s hospital room in the evenings and alternates between rage and self-loathing. He’d really liked the guy, apparently, and keeps beating himself up as a failure as both an officer and a romantic partner.

During one of his more bitter rants, Gabriel says to Jack, cruelly, “I don’t know why I’m bitching about this to you, you haven’t fucked someone whose name you know in years.”

“Mmm,” Jack says. They’re starting to wean him off the morphine, but he’s going to milk it for all he’s worth. He reaches out to the little button that dispenses happiness and lets him ignore Gabriel.

The button isn’t there, it’s now in Gabriel’s hand, Gabriel who is now looking at Jack with a raised eyebrow. “Mmm? Don’t you mmm me, Jack Morrison. Who did you sleep with?”

“No one you know.”

“So it’s someone I know. That cuts it down a bit.” 

“Gabriel -”

“Hey, I’m a fuckin’ mess but at least you’re getting some, that’s something to be happy about! Let me have this, okay?” He looks at Jack’s expression and Jack isn’t sure what he sees there, but the glee on Gabriel’s own face morphs to concern. “Or...not. It not end well?”

“Leave it alone.”

“Hey, at least you couldn’t have fucked up worse than me.” Jack looks away. Gabriel’s silent for a minute, before saying “Christ, Jack. Which one of them?”

He finally hands the morphine drip button back to Jack, who immediately presses it. “Both?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Gabriel sits there silently beside him, and Jack finally sighs because twenty years of friendship is worth something, in the end. “Hanzo.”

“I could see him being your type. Both of them, actually. When?”

“About three hours before I got shot.”

“Ah. So you didn’t get to really talk about it.”

Jack sighs. “There was a distinct lack of...resolution.”

“Has anyone talked to you about what happened after?”

A shake of Jack’s head, frustration clear in the movement. “No one tells me a goddamn thing, worried it might ‘delay my recovery’ or some bullshit. Petras is pushing for me to be on a desk after this, or to transfer to somewhere less active. Ana hasn’t been picking up her phone, probably because she’s the only functional one right now so they’re running her ragged, and even Gérard is dodging my damn calls.”

“And I’ve been stonewalled out of everything too. I’ve heard some talk, though, and I pinned Ana down the other day,” Gabriel says, not unsympathetically. “Because of - everything, Gérard was able to get a closed court and put them on the stand immediately. A good dozen people away for life here, and apparently their testimony will be able to be used in the South Korea trials. And I don’t know what all is happening in Japan itself, whether there are any of them left to prosecute.”

_ What do you know of how Sojiro died? _

_ There is much the FBI is not aware of. _

Hanzo’s smile is drawn in the blood of a man’s skull crushed by a barbell in Jack’s memory. He’s grateful when everything starts to get fuzzy and the morphine kicks in for real. A gentle hand brushes Jack’s hair back, and he turns his head automatically into the cradle of Gabriel’s palm.

“I’ll try and find out what happened to them, but I think they went over to Winston and the Marshals,” Gabriel says quietly. “Get some sleep, Jackie.”

Jack nods his way into unconsciousness.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_ Six months later _

Jack squints at the GPS app on his phone, tapping at the screen. Boston was bad enough, but Cape Cod is an absolute maze of old, twisting roads, everything surrounded by forest so you can’t figure out if you’re going in circles or not. Jack nearly drives off the road and straight into Nantucket Sound more than once.

He finally gets to Yarmouth, then down to West Yarmouth. The closer he gets the more he wonders if this is a good idea, if he should have come all this way for something that he can’t even put into words. Something that’s been haunting him for half a year, hovering over him in its nebulous lack of closure.

(Ana had handed him a brochure for a conference in Boston on technology and teleconferencing. He blinked at her before asking if a physical conference on virtual conferencing didn’t seem a bit ironic.

She sighed before handing him a scrap of paper with two names and an address on it, telling him that she never gave it to him. Jack stared at the lines written in her neat script until his eyes burned. 

He booked a plane ticket to Boston ten minutes later.)

_ You have arrived at your destination, _ his phone tells him, and Jack slams on his brakes a bit harder than he intends to. He’s in front of a house that looks like all the others on the block: one story with an attached garage, a blue pickup truck in the driveway. The house looks neat but old, the wood on the sides clearly having weathered dozens of winters. It’s surrounded by trees and bushes, flowers poking up here and there. He pulls in next to the pickup truck and when he glances in and sees a yoga mat in the backseat, something in him relaxes.

Jack dressed for the drive, the conference having ended yesterday. He shifts his shoulders inside of his beat up leather jacket, covering a worn-thin t-shirt and jeans. Should he have dressed in his suit? Maybe they wouldn’t recognize him -

_ “Oh my god.” _ The front door flings open at Jack’s knock, and he immediately has an armful of warm Genji, who is hugging Jack so hard that Jack’s surprised his feet are still on the ground.

Genji is mumbling into the side of Jack’s throat, and it takes him a minute to parse out  _ you’re here you’re here you came back to us. _ Jack closes his eyes for a moment, strokes a hand through Genji’s soft hair. 

When he opens his eyes Hanzo is standing in the foyer, eyes wide and almost - helpless looking. A second later Jack has another set of arms wrapped around him.

Finally Genji raises his head, having to spit bits of Hanzo’s hair out as he does so. “Come on, let’s get out of the doorway before the neighbors talk.”

Jack steps inside hesitantly, curiously. The walls are a bit bare, the rooms a little too empty - the way houses are before they’re homes. There’s still bits and pieces of the Shimadas everywhere: a china cabinet filled with what looks like daggers and sword guards, some framed pieces of painted silk on the walls, shelves full of books in at least four languages.

The kitchen is cool and bright, windows showing a neat backyard. At Hanzo’s gesture Jack drapes his jacket over the back of a chair at the kitchen table. He’s about to sit down when cool fingers push up the left sleeve of his t-shirt.

Genji touches the scars that are still raw and red on Jack’s skin, fingertips gentle as he studies them. Jack has full use of his arm again, is at full strength, but he has to massage moisturizer into the scars and new skin so it can stretch and there are a few spots that are completely nerveless.

He clears his throat. “I was in the hospital for a while, for the surgeries. It’s why I couldn’t go to any of the trials or anything.”

“We figured,” Hanzo said quietly. “We assumed they were keeping you all away due to - how things ended.” 

Jack smiles a bit, a sad, twisted thing. “Yeah, it wasn’t a pleasant time around the office for a while.”

Hanzo comes over, sets a mug of coffee in front of Jack. When he takes a sip it’s full of sugar, just as he normally makes it, and something warm blooms in his chest. “Tell me about here. I’m somewhat surprised they put you on Cape Cod. It seems a bit...insular.”

Genji accepts a mug from Hanzo before sitting across from Jack. His face is - content. “That’s what we thought, but the people here are surprisingly accepting. We are set up as a married couple, and given Provincetown is just up north, that doesn’t turn too many heads. At first we got more looks for our ethnicity than anything when it was apparent that we were staying and not just tourists, but.” A shrug. “They are fairly tolerant.”

A finger tracing the rim of his mug, Hanzo stares into the liquid within. “It’s - old here. Old in a way you do not normally find in America, old in a familiar way. Shimada Castle was built at around the same time the town was founded, near four hundred years ago. It’s easy, comforting really, to turn a corner and find a building that had been erected during the Edo period.”

“Hanzo is on the board of the historical preservation society,” Genji says with some glee. “He works at the library and talks to all the little old ladies about their ancient knick-knacks -”

Hanzo kicks him under the table before turning to Jack. “The  _ obāchan _ here wear Birkenstocks and LL Bean instead of kimono, but they still have many stories to tell. That you could  _ learn _ from,” he says to Genji, who rolls his eyes.

“You’re at the library,” Jack says to Hanzo, then to Genji: “And what do you do all day?”

“I’m a pirate!”

Jack blinks, Hanzo sighs. “A pirate ship wrecked off the coast in the early seventeen hundreds. It was recovered not long ago, and they created a museum to fund the restoration project. One of the managers came across Genji terrorizing some children with ghost stories at the library one day, and in a fit of madness thought he would be a good tour guide.”

Genji, under Jack’s steady gaze, squirms in his seat a bit. “It’s very interesting, actually. And they have started to train me in some of the restoration work.” Jack doesn’t react, but Genji bristles a bit all the same. “I do have a university degree, you know. And I’m trying to convince them to let me certify in SCUBA so I could help with the summer diving expeditions.”

There’s a smile on Jack’s face, and he’s not quite sure how it got there. “It sounds like this was - good for you, in the end.”

Face now serious, Genji wraps his hands around his mug, as if for warmth. “Good doesn’t touch it. We wanted to leave for so very long, and never could. I always assumed we would die in the castle, like as not by our father’s hand. This saved us.” He looks into Jack’s face, painfully earnest. “You saved us.”

“I was just part of -”

“No,” Hanzo says, firmly. “You took a bullet meant for my brother. Moreover, you treated us like - people, instead of pawns, for the first time in all of this.” 

The moment is heavy and it stretches, until Genji’s stomach rumbles. “Ugh, I’m hungry,” he says, brushing the mood of the room off. “What’s for dinner?”

Jack looks around like he might get up, but Genji stares him back down into his seat. “Hanzo signed up for cooking classes at the community college,” he says. “You must try what he makes.”

Dinner turns out to be a lobster and corn chowder, rich and buttery and paired with sourdough bread that Hanzo made. He got the starter from a woman at the library, he explains, and the look on his face when he explains how it’s decades old and he has to feed it once a week breaks something deep in Jack.

He sits there and eats, surrounded by warmth and conversation and just - 

Wants.

After he helps put the dishes away Jack looks at his jacket and thinks about his hotel room and the drive back, but instead Genji grabs his arm and drags him out the door. There’s an ice cream place that Jack just  _ must _ try, he insists. He’s seen how much sugar Jack puts in his coffee, Genji knows he has a sweet tooth.

They get their ice cream and meander the few blocks back slowly. Jack is almost glad when they run into one of Hanzo’s coworkers from the library, because it gives him something to look at other than Genji licking stray drips from his long fingers. The woman seems genuinely fond of the Shimadas, and is delighted to meet ‘one of their friends from home’. 

“They’re good boys,” she says to Jack as they watch the two fight over a last spoonful of strawberry, and Jack can only blink and shake his head. Less than a year ago Jack would have easily thrown the both of them in prison without a second thought, but for now he waves goodbye and joins the other men walking home in the darkness.

Once inside Jack takes his shoes off automatically as the others do the same, but as they move into the kitchen he looks at his jacket still draped over the chair, unsure of what to do. 

“Stay,” Genji says, looking at Jack standing in the middle of the kitchen. He strides over, doesn’t stop until his hands are pressed to Jack’s chest, roaming over his shoulders and tracing his collarbone. “Mr Morri-  _ Jack _ , you have to stay, you’re here you need to stay with -”

Jack doesn’t bother letting Genji finish the sentence, just throws all caution to the wind and bends down and kisses him. Genji’s mouth had been somewhat open from talking, and Jack takes advantage, tongue tracing just along the soft inner flesh of Genji’s slightly chapped lips. 

Genji pulls back just enough to brace himself on Jack’s shoulders and jump up, legs wrapping around Jack’s waist. Jack holds his weight easily, large hands wrapped around the tight muscle of Genji’s ass. There’s a gentle push at his back - Hanzo - and Jack lets himself be guided through the house, eyes mostly closed as he kisses Genji.

Pulling off from where he’s sucked a dark mark into Jack’s neck, Genji whispers in his ear, “I made Hanzo tell me every detail, you know. Fucked him thinking about how you fucked him, thinking about how you would fuck me.” A roll of his hips forward that makes Jack stumble. “You certainly feel much as described.”

Jack’s face is hot, embarrassed and painfully turned on at the idea of the brothers talking about Jack and Hanzo’s night together. While they were fucking, at that. 

Jesus.

They’re in a bedroom now, cool light from the streetlights streaming in and giving everything a faintly unreal look. Hanzo pulls at Jack’s shirt and Genji tugs at his pants and suddenly Jack is completely naked. A push from one of them, and he’s bouncing onto the bed, staring up at the brothers who look like they’re about to devour him. 

Genji loses his clothes quickly, revealing a body with lean, long muscle and a tattoo larger than Hanzo’s, wrapping from his wrist up to his shoulder, down his back and around a thigh. Genji pauses above Jack on his hands and knees, letting Jack just touch for a moment. Touch the ink, touch the scars, touch the line of dark hair leading from his navel down to his cock. Jack wraps his hand around Genji, pumps him long and slow. He’s already dripping onto Jack’s stomach.

Ineffectively trying to bat Jack’s hand away, Genji says roughly, “Please- don’t, it’ll be over too fast if you do that.” 

Jack wraps a hand around the back of Genji’s neck, pulls him close to kiss him slowly, in time with his hand. “You don’t think you’re just coming once, do you?” Jack murmurs into his mouth, before carefully flipping them over. 

He makes his way down Genji’s body, nipping at a nipple and then doing it again when it makes him cry out. Jack slides his tongue between foreskin and head before smoothing the extra skin down with his hand. Genji tastes bitter, day’s end strong with musk. Jack loves it, loves how his senses are overwhelmed by taste and smell and Genji’s fingers in his hair and Hanzo’s hand stroking down his back.

Jack pulls off, turns to Hanzo who has one hand lazily working between his legs and the other playing with the hair on Jack’s ass. “Lube?” he asks, and his voice is already rougher. 

Hanzo rolls over, roots around in a drawer for a moment before coming up with a half empty bottle. He reaches over to hand it to Jack, but pulls back at the last minute and leans down for a kiss. Jack kisses him with open mouth and inviting tongue, refamiliarizing himself with Hanzo’s lips as he passes over the taste of his brother.

He pulls back, tugs Genji’s leg over his shoulder, wets his fingers. One finger slides in like it’s nothing, a second goes in smoothly. Genji is bare as a baby back here - the little peacock must have found some waxing parlor willing to put up with him. Unless perhaps he shaves, maybe even gets Hanzo to do it. 

Jack ruts down into the mattress at the thought, sucking hard enough to make Genji cry out. Hanzo’s hand curls around Jack’s hip, and Jack can feel the heat of his body as he moves closer. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” Hanzo murmurs in his ear.

Pulling off to kiss Hanzo again, Jack shakes his head. “Genji is awfully loud,” he says, as he crooks his fingers and Genji moans. “Why don’t you quiet him, have him take care of  _ you _ ?”

Hanzo straddles Genji’s face backwards, mostly, Jack thinks, so he can reach forward and push Jack’s head down in a steady rhythm. The rhythm falters and falls away as Hanzo grinds down, eventually just running his hands through Jack’s hair. Hanzo - sensitive, responsive Hanzo - comes just a few minutes later, the sounds of Genji eating him out louder and wetter as he moans. 

Flopping over, Hanzo reclines back onto the pillows, watching Jack and his brother. Jack had been distracted, honestly, watching Hanzo thrust down onto Genji’s mouth from just a few feet away, but now he turns back to his job. Jack has to throw his free arm across Genji’s hips as he bucks up, spilling down Jack’s throat with a desperate moan.

Jack doesn’t pull his fingers out, keeps rubbing cruelly at Genji’s prostate until he squirms, murmuring wordless nonsense as his cock tries in vain to get hard again. Jack likes how he can fit all of it in his mouth easily, the silky skin sitting heavily on his tongue. His free hand slides down from Genji’s hips, stroking at the taut, wrinkled skin of his balls until he can feel Genji slowly start to thicken again in his mouth. 

He pulls away, wiping saliva and come from his chin as he now focuses on stretching Genji for real this time. “You ready for me?” Jack murmurs into the soft skin of Genji’s inner thigh, where a series of dark marks in the shape of Jack’s mouth are blooming. 

Genji has an arm flung over his face but he nods weakly. Jack sits up, rests back on his heels. Pulls Genji close, his thighs resting on top of Jack’s so Jack can just - slide right in. Genji is plush and warm inside, loose from orgasm and Jack’s fingers. He sets an easy pace, letting Genji get used to it, to him.

Finally Genji lets his arm fall away, looks up at Jack with blown-black eyes and rasps out, “I’m good.” Jack takes him at his word, shifting forward to fold Genji up and get some leverage. Jack hasn’t fucked anyone since Hanzo, and lets his frustration and desire out through his hips, slamming Genji into the mattress over and over again.

Genji is hard again, his leaking cock leaving shining trails against the taut skin of his stomach. Jack is about to tell him to touch himself when a hand snakes through the forest of limbs, wraps around Genji with familiarity. Hanzo nestles himself along Genji’s side, whispering words that Jack can’t hear into Genji’s ear as he strokes him in counterpoint with Jack’s thrusts. 

“Fuck,” Jack says on an exhale. He’s close. He normally can last a long - sometimes frustratingly long - time but Genji is so fucking tight and he can  _ smell _ Hanzo and it’s just too much, too overwhelming, too - everything.

Jack groans out his orgasm with his forehead pressed to Genji’s chest. He doesn’t know when Genji came but there are streaks of come smeared across his chest, right under Jack’s lips. He laps up the sourbitter drops before shifting forward, kissing Genji long and slow. There are tears streaking from the corners of Genji’s eyes that Jack doesn’t mention, he just presses a few more kisses to Genji’s slack mouth before slowly sitting back and pulling out. 

Hanzo is there, armed with a damp washcloth to clean the two of them up. Jack wraps a hand around his waist, pulls him close. “Anything I can do for you?” he asks and means it.

A smile and a shake of Hanzo’s head. “I was more than fine just watching,” he says, though he does push Jack down long enough to suck a mark on the other side of his neck from the one Genji had left.

The three of them fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, not bothering to do much other than pull the duvet haphazardly over themselves.

Jack wakes in the wee hours of the morning, pressed to Hanzo’s back and rutting gently against his ass in his sleep. He backs off until Hanzo turns around and climbs on top of him. He rides Jack easily, slowly, movements so smooth that Genji doesn’t stir. Reaching a clever hand underneath, Hanzo rubs firmly behind Jack’s balls, making him gasp and jerk his hips inelegantly. Jack comes quickly and unexpectedly, hard enough it leaves him panting.

In revenge he flips them over, holds Hanzo down and licks himself out of the other man, their tastes mixing in Jack’s mouth until Hanzo tightens around his tongue and comes with a soft cry. 

Genji hits them over the head with a pillow, grumbling about fucking in the morning, it’s too early for this shit. 

In the morning they don’t actually fuck, just stumble into underwear and into the kitchen. Jack raids their fridge, comes up with a thoroughly Midwestern breakfast casserole that might be too much another day but not after such an athletic night.

They end up in the living room, haphazardly draped over the comfortable couches as Hanzo puts on a baking competition show that they all watch with half their attention. Jack’s head is in Genji’s lap and Hanzo is laying mostly on top of him and he’s overcome with the sudden urge to throw his badge and gun into the deep dark waters of the North Atlantic and just - never leave.

Hanzo gets up at one point, muttering something about making a better soda bread than those Brits. Jack dozes with Genji’s fingers trailing through his hair, occasionally tracing over the wrinkles on his forehead, the scars on his face. 

“Do they bother you?” Jack murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“The scars.” A wince. “The wrinkles.” Genji’s skin is smooth as silk in the warm morning light, and Jack feels every year of his age.

“Well, I think you’ve seen quite enough of Hanzo and I to know that scars are part of our lives. Inside and out.” His nails trace over the long, faint scar that goes from forehead to cheek, the shorter and deeper one that cuts through Jack’s lips. “What happened? Is it the same as what happened to Agent Reyes?”

Jack nods slightly, not wanting to dislodge Genji’s hand. “Meth lab we were investigating exploded, maybe fifteen years back. We got caught in the blast, but got everyone else out safely.”

Genji’s fingers touch the corners of Jack’s eyes, the lines across his forehead. “And that’s why I’ll never mind these. Because they’re from you caring.” Delicate touches along the lines leading from his nose to the corners of his mouth. “These should be deeper. You need to smile more.”

Jack hates himself a little for how he opens his eyes and looks up at Genji and the corners of his mouth tug up. Asshole.

A call from Hanzo brings them to the kitchen and lunch - thick squash soup and crusty bread pulled right from the oven. Jack rubs his stomach after. “I don’t know how you haven’t put on fifty pounds, eating like this. It’s delicious.”

Hanzo shrugs as he mops up the last of the soup with his bread. “I’m teaching yoga over at the community center. Genji runs.”

“And he’s also trying to impress you,” Genji says slyly. The tips of Hanzo’s ears turn pink and he busies himself cleaning up.

Jack goes to the bedroom, pulls on his pants and socks. He can’t find his shirt, which Genji shrugs off innocently before handing Jack a clearly well-worn shirt with something in Japanese on it. The darkening in Hanzo’s eyes when Jack comes in the kitchen tells him whose shirt it probably is.

Genji and Hanzo lean against the kitchen counter, hips bumping together, looking at Jack as he runs his hand through his hair again and again.

“I don’t want to leave,” he bites out, abruptly. “I don’t want to leave - you. But I have a job, and an apartment, and -”

“Family?”

“No, they’re in Indiana still.” 

Hanzo frowns to himself for a moment. “Massachusetts is - closer. Than Los Angeles, at least.”

Jack opens his mouth, closes it. “I guess.”

Genji steps over and bumps his shoulder against Jack’s. “I feel like there is likely an FBI office in Boston,” he says quietly. 

Blinking, Jack looks down at him. They’re talking like - like this is something real he could have, but. 

But.

He opens his mouth and then closes it, before saying, “Yes, there is one.” 

Genji’s hand strokes down his back. “We’re not saying abandon everything for us, we know you have a life, have friends in Agents Reyes and Amari. But the future is long and we are patient. And if we can only see you when your job allows, then at least we see you.”

There’s a lump in Jack’s chest, in his throat - something fist sized and painful that he doesn’t trust. So instead he opens his arms, gathers close these men who have somehow worked their way under his skin, along his nerves. 

There are hugs and kisses and gropes at his ass - thanks, Genji - and then Jack is out the door and on the road back to Boston and the hotel and Logan Airport. 

-x-x-x-x-x-

He gets home safe and sound, dumps his bag in the entryway to his apartment. He looks around the place for the first time in what feels like years. Looks at the walls that have his diplomas and a few maps and the flag from his father’s funeral. Looks at the bare floors, the kitchen that has a hundred takeout menus and a few drawings from Fareeha circa a decade and a half ago tacked to the fridge. Looks at a bed that’s made neatly and carefully and with no personality or warmth in it.

Jack sits down at his desk and turns on his computer. He stares at the screen until he carefully, without thinking about it too much, navigates to the open position page and scrolls down, down, down, until he reaches the New England region.

He stops there. Barring the past few days, Jack Morrison isn’t a man of impulse. He thinks things through, he measures pros and cons. Getting up from his computer chair, he makes himself a sandwich and eats it, looking out his window over a park that he said he’d use for runs when he moved here and has never set a foot in. He wonders absently when his lease is up.

Across the room, Jack’s phone vibrates. It’s Gabriel. 

“Hey.”

“Hey, you back in town?”

“Just got in.”

“Wanna go get a drink and some tacos, tell me how it went?”

Jack’s eyes go over to his computer and the transfer page that’s still up. Still there. Still has four open positions on it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thereweregiants)


End file.
